


Of Keepers and Courtship

by CauldronKeeper



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Spoilers, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CauldronKeeper/pseuds/CauldronKeeper
Summary: Requested Anonymously on Tumblr; A Keeper WoL/D attempts to court G'raha Tia but they don't go about it the typical way.





	Of Keepers and Courtship

It was true that G'raha had not dallied much with love. Most of his time as a young man had been spent in the pursuit of knowledge alongside the Students of Baldesion. Beyond that, he had not found the time. In over a century of existence, he had never thought to court anyone, so singular were his thoughts in saving the First. So, it came as much surprise to him when one day he received a gift. He had received gifts before, yes, the people of the Crystarium had attempted in the past to provide him with presents of gold or jewels. He had refused them, obviously, such things could not bring him further towards his goal. This, however, was something wholly different.

It was left sitting in the Ocular after he had stepped out to oversee some business in the Cabinet of Curiosity. The present was stowed in a box, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a string. It was obvious that much time and preparation had been put into the gift. Perhaps he should have been worried, receiving an unknown package. But not many were able to enter the Ocular and even fewer did so without his previous knowledge. So he opened it without much thought blinking in surprise at the box contained.

Inside, folded carefully and smelling of jasmine, was the softest poncho he had ever beheld. When he pulled it from it’s confines he is astonished to find that it is exactly his size. He searches for a note, or perhaps a tag, to inform him of the garment’s sender but is unable to find such a thing. Perhaps Lyna had left it for him? He feels the fabric against his cheek, ears flickering happily at the softness that greets him. Obviously, it was made by hand, so perhaps his protegee had not woven this for him. For a moment, he considers wearing it, but the urge is quickly quelled. Whomever had gifted this to him had obviously put their heart into every stitch, yes, but it would not do for him to show favor among the Crystarium, regardless of how much he loved it. 

So he stowed it away, the mystery of who had thought to give him such a thing waning in the face of his tasks. It is not until nearly a week later that the question presents itself again, as yet another package is left in the middle of the Ocular. This one is nameless and tag-less just as before but contains something much different. Instead of clothes, there are several sandwiches lined in neat rows waiting for him beneath the lid of the box. They were fresh, the meat still warm and steaming. His stomach growls. It had been decades since G'raha had felt the need to eat but it comes rushing in like so much water. He is quick to scarf the meal down, licking his fingers after each bite. There was no doubt that the food had been made with a care and precision many lacked. Why they had bestowed him with such a gift was beyond his comprehension. 

He contemplates hunting down his benefactor, it would not do for them to keep leaving such gifts without his thanks but quells the thought. Perhaps it was just circumstance? And besides, if they sought to remain anonymous then he would keep to it as they did.

However, fate worked in strange ways.

G'raha had stepped from the Ocular for only a moment in the pursuit of making sure the Crystarium’s defense were up to task. When he returned from his duties he was shocked to find someone waiting for him. Well, not so much waiting for him as caught mid task. The Warrior of Light stood in the midst of his Ocular a paper wrapped box in their hands. Upon his entrance they stopped, staring wide eyed and slack jawed at him. They stammered an apology, hiding the package behind their back, cheeks burning. 

“So,” He says, not lack of amusement in his voice, fingers lacing tight around the staff in his hand, “I assume ‘tis you who left me these gifts?” The look in their eyes can only be described as oddly guilty. Their ears twitch as they not, facing back and away from him. Scared. 

Slowly, with hands shaking, they present their gift to him. He steps forwards, taking it gently from their grasp as if the package was made of glass. Their eyes do not meet his as he lifts the lid. Inside lay a pillow, the scent of jasmine lifting into the air as easily as it had with the poncho. It’s plush, silken, and a lovely pink color that he hadn’t seen before. It occurs to him that they must have dyed the fabric themselves. He looks to them again. Their hands are clutching at the hem of their shirt, plucking the few stray strands that poke from the fabric.

“It’s lovely,” He says, a small smile on his lips, “I only wonder at the occasion.”

They gulp, visibly, at the question managing to allow their eyes to catch his. “Clothes to keep him warm, food to keep him fed, and a pillow to lay his head.” They recite it as if it’s been driven into them. G'raha cannot help but blink. The words spilled so easily from their lips and yet it looked as if it pained them to utter but a single sentence.

“I … assume this means something?" 

G'raha’s brows furrow as his Warrior of Light lets out a choked sound, burying their face in their hands. "I–It’s a courting poem! I’m trying to court you!” They practically squeal.

Ah.

When he was younger he’d heard of the practices other Miqo'te partook in. He’d known that Keepers tended to court their lovers with the female usually pursuing the male in a dance of many steps and traditions. He had not payed it much mind, instead turning his attention to ancient mysteries and forgotten folklore. He curses himself for it now. How was he to respond to such heartfelt and painstakingly made presents?

“Then,” He says, words carefully weighed on his tongue, “Tell me, in your culture, how do I respond in kind?”

They peek from between their fingers, ears pricking at his words, “Well I suppose you could tell me you liked me back.”

He does not stop the bubble of laughter that seeps from his chest. Still holding the pillow aloft, he uses his free hand to slowly detach their hands from their face. “My Warrior of Light, there is not a world in all the fourteen shards that I would deny you my affections.”

The sound his Warrior of Light makes as they jump to embrace him is one he will cherish for the rest of his days.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on finalfantasyxivwritings.tumblr.com


End file.
